


chimere.

by Goldencoatl, maccreamy



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, College of Winterhold - Freeform, Crossover, Dismemberment, M/M, Mages Guild, Mild Gore, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn, Swearing, Thieves Guild
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-23 19:38:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9673076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldencoatl/pseuds/Goldencoatl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/maccreamy/pseuds/maccreamy
Summary: A thief and a mage find their fates intertwined after a series of events.





	1. glossary.

**Author's Note:**

> This is here to help further explain certain things in The Elder Scrolls universe to those who may not be completely familiar with the series.

Glossary

-

  
First Seed: March

  
Tamriel: One of the continents of Nirn, on the mortal plane. It is on this continent that Skyrim is located.

  
Skyrim: Home of the Nords, it is the northernmost province of Tamriel. It has a cold, mountainous climate, and is ruled by the High King and his Jarls.

  
Morrowind: A province in Tamriel from which the Dunmer hail. Its climate ranges from arid desert to warm swamps. It has a large island in the center, called Vvardenfell.

  
Ald’ruhn: A city located in Vvardenfell, Morrowind. It is built upon the southwest slopes of the Red Mountain, and Ash Storms are present daily. It is under the ruling of House Redoran.

  
House Redoran: One of the five great houses of the Dunmer, it governs the Redoran district of Morrowind. It focuses heavily on tradition and the way of the warrior.

  
Great Houses: Essentially, the political parties of Morrowind. These houses are Redoran, Telvanni, Hlaalu, Indoril, and Dres.

  
Dunmer: Also known as dark elves, Dunmer hail from the province of Morrowind. They are typically grey skinned, dark haired, and red eyed. They live about two times as long as humans, and typically value intellect highly. They often become skilled swordsman and sorcerers.

  
Thieves Guild: A faction across Tamriel that deals with thievery and other unjust ways of earning coin. Though they steal, they try not to kill unless necessary, which is a job delegated to the Dark Brotherhood.

  
Riften: A fishing city in southern Skyrim, it is the main hub of operations for the Skyrim chapter of the Thieves Guild. It is known across Tamriel for being corrupt due to the guild’s influence.

  
Winterhold: A city in northern Skyrim that was once prosperous, but has become a shell of its former self after the Great Collapse. It is home to the College of Winterhold.

  
The Great Collapse: A long series of storms that battered Winterhold in 4E 122. Much of the city was lost to the Sea of Ghosts, but the college was left relatively unharmed.

 

The College of Winterhold: A Guild of mages located in Winterhold. It is very similar to the Mages Guilds in Morrowind and Cyrodiil, but is a separate faction.

  
Septim (Currency): A gold coin, and the main currency of Tamriel. It is named after emperor Uriel Septim.

  
Merethic Era: The era where life began on Nirn and elves, or mer, prospered. It was also during this time that dragons roamed the lands.

  
Aldmeris: The ancient tongue of the Aldmer in the Merethic Era.

  
Breton: A half-human, half-elf hailing from the province of High Rock. While their appearance is mostly human, elf blood runs strong in their veins, giving them a strong affinity for magic.

  
Orc: Orcs, also known as Orsimer, hail from Orsinium. Despite being ‘mer’ they are widely considered beastfolk. Their ways are often considered barbaric by other races. They tend to make the finest smithers and warriors in Tamriel.

  
Bosmer: Also known as Wood Elves, they are the primary race of Valenwood. They are distinctive in their tan skin, long ears, and small stature. They have a large respect for nature, and are incredibly nimble and agile.

  
Valenwood: A province of Tamriel where the Bosmer hail. It is filled with lush forests, and its capital cities are built on giant walking trees.


	2. one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here it is, I hope you all enjoy it! 
> 
> Happy Boombox Week!

Chapter 1

-

 

     Moonlight shone on the snow, sparkling white making a stark contrast to the dull grey mountainsides and dark skies. Still early in First Seed, Tamriel had not yet begun to warm from the chilly winter. Dark cloaking, which would usually blend perfectly with the blackness of night, instead stood out sharply against the landscape as a young Dunmer limped through the cold snow. Unfocused eyes that glowed a bloody red were glazed with fatigue  — he had been traveling a long way. However, this wasn't the farthest he had traveled. No, he had traveled far from the more temperate climate of Morrowind where he had spent his childhood. Hailing from the arid city of Ald’ruhn, his parents worked for House Redoran. They had died when he was six, leaving him to tend the ebony mines alone to forge a living. That was, until he discovered a secret deep in the mines that lead to his escape to Skyrim. His treasure… A secret he would carry with him to the grave.

 

     The dark elf was ripped away from his thoughts as he took a wrong step, instantly plunging into a snow drift. His previously half-numb limbs erupted with feeling once again, sharp pain shooting across his body in protest of the contact with the freezing snow. With a bit of panic, he struggled his way out of the drift enough to grab a pine branch, gritting his teeth at how the brittle wood splintered beneath his calloused hand and sap dressed his palms. With a single ire laced pull, he hauled himself out of the snow, rolling onto his back and taking a moment to mollify his frantically pounding heart. “Damn it,” he breathed, pulling out the splinters with sharp canines in a feral manner. Blood spilled from the wounds, filling the maps of ashen hands with crimson, but it wasn't anything new. Such was the life of an adventurer and thief. The Dunmer pulled himself back onto weak legs, teeth chattering from the newly acquired cold. Yes, he was a thief. He had enlisted in the Thieves Guild in Riften immediately upon crossing the border, knowing it was the easiest way to put coin in his pocket. He had considered putting up in Windhelm, but the racist bastards there would put him in prison for merely breathing the wrong way. No, Riften was corrupt in a better way. If he did well in the guild, the worry of spending the rest of his days rotting in a prison cell that so frequently gnawed at this thoughts would be no more.

     Relief washed over his face as he reached the top of a hill and spotted the path into Winterhold, breathing out a small puff of air he hadn't realized he’d been holding. He made it. He had survived the cold. Rubbing his hands together feverishly, he limped his way into the city, scarlet eyes darting around for a sign for an inn. Yeah, maybe he had a job to do, but he was freezing his ass off, and hell if he couldn't use some warm mead right now. Nords may have fucked a lot of things up- their weird beliefs, their choices in settlement building, their cuisine.. But hell if they didn't do alcohol just right. He paused outside of a large building, squinting at the sign.  _ Fro.. Froz…  _ He couldn't quite tell what it said. Turns out, no one really bothers with teaching the dirty mine boys how to read. He'd picked up some over the years but complex words were just something he couldn't understand. Plus he couldn't focus his attention on anything much longer than a sentence, anyway. He wasn't one of those scholarly types, he could do without it. Nevertheless, he could see smoke rising from the chimney, a sign of warmth and life, so he decided he could take the chance. Pulling off the hood of his cloak, he pushed his way indoors, resisting the urge to melt to the floor as the warmth of a roaring fire instantly kissed his body. This was an inn that knew how to draw in customers. He instantly headed for the counter, grimacing as a cheery bartender turned to face him. “Greetings, traveler. Welcome to the Frozen Hearth! Could I interest you in a room? Only fifteen Septims a night!”

 

     “Naw, don't wanna room,” the elf grumbled in response, still irate from his close call in the snow. “Just mead, an’ half a loaf’a bread.”

 

     “That will be seven Septims.” The Dunmer grumbled again as he forked over the gold, grabbing his food and grunting in thanks. He hobbled over to a table before plopping down on the bench, swearing and rubbing his right leg. It had been blissfully numb in the frozen tundra, but now that he was warm he was beginning to realize just how far he’d traveled. A mining accident had nearly cost him his leg years ago, and he now had a horrible limp and was subject to pains whenever he walked too much. Hunger begin to override the pain, distracting him from the feeling, and soon he was scarfing down his bread like a Sabertooth who had just made its kill. Glances were loosely tossed in the Dunmer’s direction — they read of his savagery, but he did not dare to care about the opinions of others. He pulled out a piece of parchment as he ate, squinting at the ink. It was supposed to be instructions for the heist, but the handwriting was all loopy and fancy and he could barely tell what the hell it said. And he sure as fuck wasn't going to ask someone to read it for him — if the Guild were to learn of his illiteracy, how would their image of him change? He was already on probation as it was. After a moment of bitter grumbling and tearing into his bread, he resigned himself on trying to decipher as much as he could of the writing. 

 

_      Jamison, _ yeah, that was his name. A fucking awful name, so unlike the other Dunmer’s who held names of royalty and culture. He figured his parents must have been slow, after all, they had granted him such a lowly name.  _ This is… vital… info…  _ Okay, four words in and he already felt that urge to yell bubble in his chest. What even is a vital? That thing you carry potions in? He wasn't sure, and it had everything to do with the task at hand. Taking a different approach, he squinted at the sketch of the college at the bottom of the parchment. It looked like there was a drawing of some sort of trap at the bridge connecting the college to the town. Well, he might as well avoid the bridge. A levitation scroll might do the trick, he's practiced some with those and only crashed five times. Considering that number was out of nine tries, he figured he would have the upperhand in this case. The library, or The Archanaeum, as he had been informed it was really called, seemed to be located on the right. A well timed invisibility potion would more than suffice to get him into the building and safely into the library. Usually he loathed to drink anything other than water and alcohol, but his friend Mako had concocted this for him, so he supposed drinking this would not follow in his immediate death — a graveless death. It probably wasn’t poisoned. Probably.

 

     After gulping down the last of the mead, Jamison rose to his feet once more, stretching out his bad leg before fixing his posture. He only had so long until dawn was upon him — he needed to get going. It would be much safer to sneak in when the majority of the College was asleep. Stuffing the parchment in the pocket of his cloak, he slipped back outside into the freezing night air. He shot a few furtive glances around before pulling the hood over his head and heading for his destination. The College of Winterhold was a sight to behold, even for an adventurer. The size of the building was incredible, and its radial layout was disguised slightly by the sheer size of the walls. It gave it more of an archaic look, and could have easily been a castle. The windows were tall and impressive, and the dull grey color wasn't even detrimental to its appearance. In architecture it certainly looked as if it belonged in Skyrim, but the general atmosphere was otherworldly. It stirred a sort of fascination in Jamison’s stomach that he recognized as the first time he encountered magic as a tyke. A smile curled on his lips as the Dunmer stopped outside of the bridge. Yes, he belonged in the Thieves Guild —  he stole, fenced, pickpocketed, and shilled. But he wasn't a sewer rat. More like.. maybe a warm warehouse rat. No, the sewers were cold, wet, and stench-ridden. He much preferred the atmosphere of this place — of fascination and fantasy. Too bad there wasn't a Thieves Guild chapter for the Mages Guild. Oh well, he could enjoy the feeling while it lasted.

 

     Jamison pulled a scroll out of his pocket, opening it and squinting his red eyes at the ink scrawled onto the parchment. He couldn't read it, unfortunately, but he knew its contents verbatim after it had been so generously taught to him. “A caryane,” he murmured, the Aldmeris rolling off of his tongue as if he were a native speaker in the Merethic Era. His talent with speaking the ancient language has been attributed to his gift in magic. He certainly could have joined Ald’ruhn’s Mages Guild if his life had taken a different turn. With a sharp intake of breath, he closed his eyes, focusing on the words he’d spoken until he felt his feet lifting off of the ground. He could do this, a forty-four percent success rate was relatively high. He allowed himself to channel the energy for a moment longer before opening his eyes again and floating across the massive gap between the continent and the outcropping that the College was built on. Upon landing, he let out a shaky exhale, not realizing he had been holding his breath the whole time. Now came the easy part. He traded out the levitation scroll for a small potion, pressing himself against the stone walls. He had to be absolutely ready when he took it, the invisibility effect would only last for two minutes. Going over the remainder of his plan another three or four times he took a calming breath and uncapped the vial, swallowing the liquid down as quickly as he could. Mako had obviously included something that left a cinnamon aftertaste — how kind of him. He glanced down as his body instantly disappeared, mouth stretching into a twisted grin. Perfect. With the quietest of delighted giggles, he turned the corner and hurried across the courtyard of the College, making sure to follow the path as to not leave his footprints in the thick snow. He gave the door leading into the Hall of the Elements a little push, wincing as the old doors creaked open. He slipped through the instant the crack was wide enough, not wanting that god awful noise to continue for any longer than it had to. Lowering his cloak hood, he reached into his pocket to pull out- oh. The parchment. He swore under his breath, only just remembering that everything on his person had turned invisible under the effects of the potion. He would just have to try and remember the layout the best he could. He allowed himself a moment to think before turning to the door on the right, pushing it open slowly and slipping inside. The Dunmer froze as he practically walked into a pair speaking in hushed voices near the opening of the main chamber. 

 

     “Are you sure you have no idea about the location of the scroll?” A young Breton asked, his eyes narrowed as if he did not believe what he was being told. He was average height, and his dark hair was tied back in a small ponytail. His accent was strange; foreign to this land. The orc he was talking to was massive, just like Mako — Jamison simply snorted and shook his head at the comparison. 

 

     “No. Your curiosity may be the end of you one day. The scroll you speak of has been lost to time. It has not even been proven to exist. Why don’t you get some rest? You and your brother have classes just after dawn, do you not?” The Breton practically scoffed, but didn’t argue. He threw a glance across the room. Jamison’s breath caught as he looked straight through him, but his gaze kept going before he gave a nod of resignation before he trailed out of the room. The Orc shot him a studious look before turning the other direction and sauntering towards his own quarters. Jamison let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding before glancing around the Archanaeum. The room was incredibly impressive. It followed a spherical structure with high-rising ceilings and arches. The lighting was warm and inviting, if he were a student, he wouldn’t mind pulling all-nighters here. Letting his tense shoulders loosen, he made his way to the nearest wall of scrolls, wondering how to begin his search. He couldn’t help but feel like the scroll he was looking for was one of the older ones, so he reached his hand up to the top row and- oh. His hand slowly began to come into view. Seems like the potion was wearing off. He plucked a random scroll off of the shelf in a fit of impatience, opening it and skimming over it. Just drawings of werewolves. Disgusting. He dropped that one onto the ground in distaste before glancing back up, a scroll on dark parchment catching his eye. Had that one been burned? Why keep it then? Curiosity overcoming him, he pulled it gingerly out of its place, opening it up and glancing at a bright red inscription in the center, glowing softly like embers. “.. Iggnamej?” He questioned confusedly, not sure what the hell that even meant. It didn’t look like Aldmeris. Suddenly, the entire scroll burned a brilliant red, burning his hands and causing Jamison to let go. All too quickly, it exploded then and there, throwing the Dunmer against the wall and procuring a bloodcurdling scream as the boom shook the Arcanaeum. 

 

     Then, there was darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let us know if there were any mistakes! 
> 
> Check us out on Tumblr: [chimeree](%E2%80%9Dchimeree.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D)


	3. two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lúcio finds himself wound up in a peculiar situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day, enjoy!

Chapter Two

-

 

     The Hall of Attainment was often a restless place. While the sound of voices were often void, the soft scraping of mortar and pestle and the chime of spellcraft still echoed off the ancient stone walls. Despite the noise, Lúcio attempted to rest when he could, after all, working with magicka was often draining and demanding of attention. The Bosmer laid on his bedroll, thick furs covering his body as milky eyes gazed up at the endless rows of stone and moss that blocked the stars from sight. The time spent behind the college walls were all well spent, though it was times like these, when his mind wasn’t busy, that he began to miss Valenwood. The memories of days spent climbing amongst the great trees of the forests with the warmth of the sun dripping onto his skin were still fresh in his mind. Skyrim was an unforgiving place full of unforgiving people, Lúcio was often chided for his rare remarks on the nords because he had not been allowed to experience their culture outside of those living in Winterhold. They seemed to tolerate the College to a degree, it was all that remained after the Sea of Ghosts. Although the mages became a scapegoat for the incident, they were still welcomed for they paid handsomely for the goods they needed. 

 

     A conversation could be heard from the neighboring dorm, whispered words about a theory that Lúcio paid little mind to. Why couldn’t he just fall asleep? It was brutal. A certain sense of anxiety settled in the pit of his stomach, one that left him confused and worried about  _ something _ . Then there came a sound. 

 

     An explosion. One that made the ground tremble, and the ingredients that hung from a repurposed chandelier swing with an unsteady rhythm. That feeling in his gut bled into his veins, lengthy ears twitching as he sat up in a panic. The image of his dead classmates passed through his mind as he jumped to his feet, voices of question and fear rose and the sound of feet pounding against the floor in a race to the door all played off of the paranoia and fear that filled every inch of Lúcio’s body. Hands shook as he threw on his robes and tore his satchel from the dresser, full of potions and hope. Muffled prayers to the gods could be heard spilling from the lips of others, but Lúcio did not have time to pray. Cloth bound feet padded against cobblestone as the Bosmer rushed towards the door, small hands pressed against the wooden door, pushing it open and allowing cold air to breach the room, speckles of snow may melting against the floor as he ran into the courtyard. From here he could see the spells that rested in the palms of the other mages, flames of fury and lavender orbs ready to summon the supernatural.  _ What was going on? _

 

     The cool air did little to settle or distract the Bosmer as he headed into the forked hallway of the Hall of the Elements, eyes shifted frantically as he followed the plumes of smoke and rubble that rolled off the steps into the Arcanaeum. The man began to ascend the stairs, smoke repealed with every nervous step. If it was an explosion it meant the destruction of millennium of history, research, and art. Once he reached the tops of the stairs, he lifted his hands, a small orb of light rose from the Bosmer’s cloth covered hand, filling the space around him with light as he took careful steps into the room. As he glanced around the room, he could see that most of the books had survived the most evident explosion, save for a few scorched spines. It was quiet. There was no voices or footsteps, just the sound of embers whispering their final words. As Lúcio stepped forth, something was suddenly beneath his foot. Eyes shot down to see  —  _ Oh. Oh gods.  _

 

     Something between a noise of disgust and terror escaped the man’s lips as he jolted back, lifting his foot in a panic. He had just stepped on an arm. Though it wasn’t just any arm, it was an arm that wasn’t attached to anything, mangled and torn from the elbow. As milky eyes looked past the ashen limb, they noticed the droplets of blood that lined the floor in a gruesome sort of way. Living in Tamriel meant one usually became accustomed to seeing vile things such as this, but it still left Lúcio somewhat shaken. Especially with the lingering thought that this arm could belong to someone he was close to; a teacher, a student, a friend. Toeing the limbs off to the side, the Bosmer followed the blood trail until the light that stalked his being illuminated a figure lying stagnant on the floor. From here Lúcio could see the pool of blood that soaked the ground beneath him, though he wasn’t sure he had ever seen this mer before. The elf still rushed to the other’s side, dropping to his knees in the mess of ash and gore. This was no student. This was a complete stranger. 

 

     He was Dunmer, sharp featured and wild haired like all the others Lúcio had come across in his travels. Though he did not hail from the college, in fact, Lúcio was certain he had never seen this person once in his life. Nonetheless, he was still bent on saving a life and so he conjured a golden light in his hands. Fingers caressed the light with a gentleness, controlling the spell with ease as he sucked in a soft breath, sputtering softly as the smoke poured into his lungs. Mustering up his energy, the Bosmer squeezed his eyes shut as he outstretched his hands. Ribbons of light surrounded the intruders body, wounds began to heal under the glow of the spell, sealing shut and refusing to let more blood spill. Closing his hands into tight fists, the healer slumped back onto the ground with a heaving sigh, his eyes slipped shut, taking a moment to recover from that. 

 

     “Lúcio,” a gruff voice beckoned the mage’s name. Opening his eyes, he turned to look over his shoulder only to be met with the sight of armored legs and so he turned his gaze upward to the concerned face of Winston. “What happened here?”

 

     “I have no idea,” Lúcio replied, sounding just as concerned as Winston, he wasn’t sure, to be frank, he was a little frightened. “Do we know who this guy is?”

 

     The orc lowered himself to the floor, his brow was furrowed as bright eyes examined the Dunmer lying unconscious on the floor. There came a huff of confusion from the alchemist as he rubbed his bearded chin, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him before. How unusual, it doesn’t look like he’s going to be awake for a while. Perhaps we should prepare a bed for him!” Winston suggested quite cheerfully almost as if he had forgotten they were standing in the ashes of important documents and works of art. 

 

     Flashing the Orc a nod of agreement, the Bosmer slid his arms underneath the other’s figure, lifting his limp body off the floor. Lúcio could feel the blood that stuck to the stranger’s skin begin to dampen the fabric of  his robes, but he refused to allow that to distract him as he began to walk down the stairs. 

 

     Lúcio wasn’t exactly sure if he could pinpoint how he felt about this situation. It was all so odd. 

 

―

 

     Exhaustion weighed heavily on the Bosmer. He had given his bed up to aid the stranger and sat by his side out of sheer curiosity and concern. Day was upon them, the sky outside of stone walls shown bright on the snowy mountains, it had been hours at this point. Rubbing his eyes with the meat of his palms, Lúcio leaned forth, resting his elbows on his knees with a small yawn. 

 

     The sound of footsteps accompanied by a voice caused the mage to sit up and turn his attention towards the doorway. There stood a fellow classmate of Lúcio’s, a Breton skilled in both archery and magicka who carried the name Hanzo. “Is he awake?” He questioned, voice laced with venomous undertones. 

 

     Flashing a look of confusion, Lúcio glanced down at the Dunmer.  _ Was this not obvious?  _ — “I’m gonna say no,” he replied, sounding exactly how he looked as he gestured to the intruder. 

 

     The Breton scoffed, entering the room and taking a stand at the bottom of the bed. Dark eyes stared down the sharp of his nose, eyeing the Dunmer with distaste. “I thought it would be appropriate to inform you that no one else was found injured or dead in the Arcanaeum. From my understanding, he got a hold of a scroll and obviously wasn’t aware of how to use it. Imbecile.”

 

     All those burns marks that cluttered the stranger’s skin, the lack of flesh below his elbow, it all left Lúcio wondering why he had done this. What could someone possibly want to do with the College? Weren’t they just troublemakers to the public eye? Resting his arms on the edge of the bed, Lúcio leaned forward, resting his head against the furs of the bed. 

 

     “I suppose I should take my leave then, goodnight, Lúcio,” Hanzo bade the Bosmer farewell before turning on his heels and taking his leave, leaving the interloper and Lúcio alone once again. From here he could hear the raspy breathing of the other, a mollifying noise that seemed to outweigh the background noise of the dorms. Everything had happened so fast, everything felt like a blur, but now all the mage could feel was the yearn for a good night's rest. The Bosmer’s eyes calmly fell shut, giving into the soft pace of breathing and the warmth of the hall. So slowly, he drifted off to sleep with the thought of how odd it was to let his guard down next to a potential threat lingering in his mind.

 

     Perhaps when he awoke things would return to normal, and this wouldn’t interrupt his studies. Perhaps. 


	4. three.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jamison wakes up and finds himself in a place he doesn't recognize, but it doesn't seem like he will be leaving anytime soon.

Chapter 3

-

 

     It was a little more than a day before Jamison even began to stir. He shifted with the slightest of groans, red eyes cracking open only to be met with the sight of dark walls. Where was he…? It didn’t look like anywhere in Riften. It was someone’s bed though; he couldn’t say that was new. He felt almost as if he were drugged, aware of that strange sensation where he could tell something hurt but was too bogged down to care. After a ragged breath ― why were his lungs so out of shape all of a sudden? ― he dared to fully open his eyes and get a better assessment of the situation. He glanced down and stretched, moving his fingers and… His blood ran cold. Crimson eyes flickered over to his right arm and his stomach churned with uncertainty. It wasn’t there. Immediately the memories came rushing back, terror icing his veins as he remembered the moments leading up to his unconsciousness. He could feel his missing arm burning with unbearable pain. He couldn’t help but give out a loud scream of shock and hurt, grabbing his stump and only cringing harder as his palm met singed flesh. Immediately he scrabbled out of bed, wanting to see if he could find some sort of potion, but then went crashing to the floor. 

 

     There was the sound of footsteps approaching, rapidly at that, before two people shoved themselves into the room, one looking calm but relatively concerned and the other looking like… A mess, really. The latter rushed over to Jamison, eyes wide as he tried to help him to his feet. The Dunmer cringed, shoving him off and instantly conjuring a fireball. He could tell someone had been using magic on him ― it was the only reason he could cast a spell. 

 

     “Dude, c’mon, calm down-” the other urged. Oh, he was definitely a Bosmer now that he paid attention to it. Those blank eyes and that olive skin, all giveaways. “We’re just trying to help you here. Please don’t set my room on fire, I dunno if I can afford to repair it.” 

 

     The Bosmer’s friend nodded, looking intrigued. “Yes, no one is trying to hurt you here. Assuming you don’t cast that spell. Then, my friend, I may have to retaliate.” 

 

     Jamison glared before slowly dropping his hands, taking deep, shaky breaths to try and calm his frantically beating heart. It was a good few seconds before he could find the energy to speak. “... Why’m I here?”

 

     “There was an explosion early yesterday morning. We found you in the carnage, missing an arm. I specialize in restoration magic, so I healed you,” the other elf explained, looking him over carefully. “I brought you over here so I could keep an eye on you.”

 

     “Yeah, well thanks elfy guy, you saved my life or whatever,” he grunted, pulling himself off the floor and onto his feet, legs trembling beneath his weight. “Now I’m getting out of here, I gotta get back or―”

 

     “Now wait just a moment,” the other interposed, a Breton. Instantly he was at Jamison’s side, steadying him before pushing him gently but firmly back onto the bed. “You are still injured, despite Lúcio’s kindness and extensive healing. Besides, we do not yet know why you are here. We cannot just allow you leave.” 

 

     It seemed right to assume Lúcio was the Bosmer. The mer in question nodded, rubbing his arm a little awkwardly at the compliment. “Yeah dude, you really got screwed up out there. What happened?”

 

     “Just stupid people giving me stupid jobs without good enough stupid directions,” Jamison growled, fingers wrapping around where his arm once was. “It doesn’t matter, I’m gonna fight if ya don’t let me out.”

 

     “That would be a sight to see,” the Breton chuckled, remarkably unperturbed. “You have to admit, you could take two steps towards us and collapse instantly. Unfortunately you are in no shape to fight for the freedom you desire. It would be much more beneficial for you to give us the information we request.”

 

     “Aw c’mon, Genji,” Lúcio spoke up, shaking his head in disapproval. “You don’t gotta pick on him. It doesn’t matter who he is, he’s hurt.” He moved to Jamison’s side, checking the wound on his stump. The Dunmer winced, attempting to pull away the second soft fingers met his skin. 

 

     “I think you would agree with me that if a member of the Dark Brotherhood were here, we wouldn’t waste a moment attacking them,” Genji commented, watching on as one elf scrabbled away from another very persistent elf. “Dunmer, I would advise against that, you’re bound to hit your head on the stone, and then we’d have more blood to clean. Laundry day was a bit of a nightmare yesterday.”

 

     “Fuck laundry, fuck your healing,” Jamison growled, but he was growing too tired to fight. Lúcio attempted to smile, wanting to bring some sort of comfort to the Dunmer, he reached out for his stump again. “C’mon, it’s alright,” he cooed, looking relieved as he was allowed to check the wound and let his fingertips glow a soft yellow. “We won’t hurt you. You’re a thief right? What were you trying to steal?” 

 

     Jamison blinked, stunned at Lúcio’s ability to see right through him. He supposed it was common sense ―  after all, he had showed up uninvited in the middle of the night. Maybe he was more stunned that he wasn’t trying to kill him now that he knew. “Er… Just a transmutation scroll mate, nothin’ dangerous.”

 

     “Yeah, figures,” Lúcio shrugged, milky eyes focused on the task at hand. “People get sent here more often than you think. Not many get through the traps. You’re pretty lucky to be alive right now. That or just really smart, hah.” 

 

     “Smart? He did get himself blown up at the library,” Genji spoke up, sounding amused. “I think crafty would be a better word choice there. Though he must be well trained in the ancient tongue to be able to use the spell… If that were true, though, he would know what the scroll said and how it is used.”

 

     “Ey, I’m plenty smart,” Jamison countered irritably. “You scholarly types think you gotta read an’ write an’ use big words’ta be smart. That ain't true, if yer smart yer a good problem solver. Ya know how’ta talk’ta people, an’ ya know how things work. Ya can be the most educated mer in Tamriel an’ still be dumber than a Kwama forager separated from the others.”

 

     Lúcio blinked at that, rightfully taken aback. A baffled glance was exchanged between the two students before the Bosmer turned back to the stranger. “What's your name?” He questioned, hoping to just keep him from blowing more shit up.

 

     “Jamison,” the Dunmer said matter-of-factly, glaring coldly at the two with those red eyes. “I answered yer stupid questions. Can I go now?”

 

     “Now hold on, you did break into the college and attempt theft,” the Breton spoke up, with a bit of a mischievous twinkle in his gaze. “But I suppose we can let that slide with a bit of your help.”

 

     “Help?” Jamison questioned, looking a bit queasy. He had never enjoyed being asked favors due to the fact that he often failed, this could end up as just another failure. He gripped the fur of the bedroll. “The fuck are ya talkin’ about, mate?”

 

     “It's simple, really,” Genji smiled, folding his arms. “I have a project that I've been researching with my brother. We may be able to prove the existence of an item that could help everyone in Tamriel. Someone gifted in the ancient tongues could be a very valuable asset to us.”

 

     “Man, what?” Lúcio breathed, at a loss. “And you call me too trusting! This guy tried to steal from us, and you want his help? Hanzo’s gonna lose it.”

 

     “Not if he doesn't know,” Genji chuckled, stepping back as the Bosmer shook his head disapprovingly and instead walked over to Jamison.

 

     “Now, be honest. How much does it hurt?” The Bosmer asked, quirking a brow up in question before flashing a softened gaze of concern towards Jamison.

 

     Jamison grumbled, avoiding that concerned look and rubbing his stump. “A lot,” he admitted, “It feels like my arm is still there.”

 

     “Phantom pains, that's what they're called,” Lúcio informed sympathetically. “So sorry about your arm dude, no amount of healing in the world can bring that back. But I can help your pain, if you trust me enough for that.” Jamison found himself hesitant to agree to the other. He was never one to trust people, but this elf had given up his bedroll for him, and refused to let anyone hurt him or even arrest him. He was wary of his motives, but for the time being he didn't seem to want to bring any harm to him. Plus, being under the sign of the Atronach, the healing Lúcio could provide would only help fill his magicka reserves.

 

     “Alright,” he groaned, “But only ‘cause I can't hardly think over this bloody ghost pain.” Lúcio flashed him some sort of sickeningly sweet smile before his fingers glowed, the angry red of the inflamed skin fading to grey, and Jamison’s shoulders fell with it. He hadn't tried to kill him. He was only helping. He couldn't quite seem to come to terms with it, but it was happening.

 

     “... Thanks,” Jamison grunted, leaning back slightly and flinching as the other elf squeezed his good shoulder. Ugh. Contact with others. As if he didn't already feel sick. He turned back to Genji. “I'll think about your offer, alright? If ya say it's for the good’a everyone in Tamriel, then it benefits me an’ all my buddies, too.”

 

     “I suppose that is one way you could think of it,” the Breton chuckled, an eyebrow raised. “You seem sensible for a thief.”

 

     “You seem articulate for a Breton,” Jamison quickly retorted, rolling his eyes before settling back in the bedroll, eyes dropping. Now that the pains were gone, he was about ready to pass out again.

 

     “Don't worry, he's just teasing,” Lúcio assured, standing up once he was sure that the Dunmer didn't need any more attention. “We gotta get back to class, but we’ll be back. And the doors locked, so you don't gotta worry about anyone bothering you. Don't do anything stupid, alright? You need the rest of your limbs.”

 

     “Ha. Hilarious,” he snorted, though he had been sarcastic the ghost of a smile still rested on his face. “Alright then, get outta here. Can't sleep with people starin’ down my back the whole time anyways.”

 

     “You slept just fine before,” Lúcio teased before stretching and following Genji out the door. “Sleep good, man.”

 

     “Yeah, I'll try,” Jamison mumbled, heavy eyelids finally drifting closed into an uneasy sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check us out on tumblr: [chimeree](https://chimeree.tumblr.com/)

**Author's Note:**

> Check us out on Tumblr: chimeree


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